


Spy vs. Spy

by VoyagerSoa



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Body Worship, Clothed Sex, Date Night Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Loki, Femdom, Genderfluid Character, Kissing, Oral Sex, Riding, Vaginal Sex, implied hypnosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoyagerSoa/pseuds/VoyagerSoa
Summary: There’s a new beautiful face in Stark Resilient. Tony Stark is at least eighty percent sure said beautiful face is also the God of Mischief. He may or may not be doing something very, very stupid to prove it.





	Spy vs. Spy

**Author's Note:**

> Finally had the brainpower to write an idea I've been floating for some time now. Probably my favorite ending punchline I've ever written to date. Enjoy!

Tony Stark was the engineering head (and former CEO) of Stark Resilient. He lived and breathed his job the same you and I would food or water. The company—and his machines—were his baby. It’d be an understatement to call him just a little more protective than usual over the secret sauce working the gears. Another fact, just for us:

Tony Stark was also about eighty percent sure the new intern that’d been sent into his division was also none other than the Norse God of Mischief.

Issue was proving it.

She (God of Mischief being inasmuch goddess as god nowadays, to Tony’s consternation) was Listig. She’d been coming down every day around an hour after noon to collect his written work for organizing just to ask after if there was anything else she should be doing for him for the last three and a half weeks. Typical intern fanfare. But here’s where it got tricky—Listig was apparently a Norwegian import, and this was just the start of Tony’s Avengers patented Loki-radar blaring in alarm. She had hair dark like ink that framed her face and he could swear he saw it moving of its own volition outside the corner of his eye. Speaking of eyes, hers were an emerald green, a _very familiar_ kind of emerald green.

Talk about a baited hook.

But the hook came with its own barbs. Listig had thus far passed every single test Tony’s ever laid before her, even when he challenged her to a sudden cotton swab to test one of his prototype’s bio-imaging features in his words. She’d supplied with none more than a smile and sure enough, it instantly returned as wholly human with neither Asgardian nor frost giant so much a suggestion in the mix. Her weight was normal, not a half ton; heat scans showed regular; her background check cleared several times over. And while Tony Stark might’ve been ever aware for Loki’s propensity toward robe and wizard hat, he nevertheless put better stock in his machines rather than entertaining the idea of them being ran over in green magic crayon. You might call him something of a skeptic.

So where was Doctor Strange?

What could Tony have said? ‘ _Hey, Stephen, I know we have our differences but there’s a gorgeous intern in my shop and I need you to come out and tell me if she’s the worst Norse god to have ever landed on Earth_ ’?

He instead kept working, trying to ignore her. It wasn’t like Listig was pushing boundaries. She never tried to pull a fast one to steal any codes or ask conspicuous questions about the quality of Stark Resilient security. If she was Loki, he had not a clue as to what her game would’ve even been. Just for the fun of making him doubt himself? As much as that sounded like her, Tony had heard through the grapevine than even she had bigger fish to be frying like the weaselly bastard she and her male form were. He was confident he had everything under control, trickster god or no trickster god.

Said monologue was interrupted by a folder being presenting to him in his office, hitting the desk with a belated kith.

 _Speak of the Devil._ It was Listig.

“Here’s a sorted financial sheet,” she said. “I’m certain you don’t do your own taxes, so I helped myself to some suggestions of my own.” She’d been wearing a puffy blouse that held just the hint of lime against white partnered with a black pencil skirt. Tony had never seen her have her hair up, and today was no exception. It followed her shoulders until well beyond the small of her back. “If that’s okay, Mister Stark.”

He turned his attention to the papers. As he thought, everything was immaculate. “Jesus. You do better accounting than my actual accountants.” It was sincere. “While also being, give or take, twice as beautiful.” Also, be it unfortunately or fortunately, just as sincere.

Listig merely smiled. “I try to do my best on both parts.”

“You can say that.” Tony let the papers down. “I’ll ship them off to Miss Potts. I can’t imagine she’d run down her and put her foot where the sun doesn’t shine if we’re in the black like this.”

Listig looked around. “Anything else, Mister Stark?” She punctuated the question by taking the folder and tucking it back under her shoulder.

Tony, who at first said nothing, found what he wanted: “I’ve got just one question… if you do work as good as this, why even apply as an intern? And not, I don’t know… head secretary?”

She held to her smile, close-lipped and polite. “Maybe because I knew I’d be next to you, Mister Stark,” Listig said with a wink that probably didn’t have the effect she wanted as far as putting him at ease. “But, really… I prefer working my way up from ground zero, as it were. And I’m so young I don’t have any real experience, you know. Your company is very prestigious, Mister Stark.”

“You came over a long way from Norway.”

“I wanted to experience the city for a change.”

“And you couldn’t do that with a better paying position? I mean, I know the minimalist style is in, but this is Manhattan. Not exactly kind to those with a leaner checkbook.”

“Are you suggesting a promotion, Mister Stark? I would be honored.”

_Hnh. Am I being too hard on her? I mean, it isn’t **completely** out of the question that the hottest and brightest twenty-something I’ve ever seen would also be conveniently Norwegian and happen to have hair and eyes like that while getting chummy with me. Just… **mostly** out of the question._

Well, you know what they say about being one in a million…

Tony leaned back. “I suppose that, yes, at least a little.” He met her gaze. “But there’s something else I should ask you, Miss Listig.”

The elephant in the room. The question we all knew had to be coming. Unavoidable. Unfeasible not to ask. A question like:

“Would you happen to be interested in going on a date with me?”

Lower Manhattan.

They were seated on their own private balcony beside an ivy terrace in an restaurant upscale even by Tony’s standards. Ostensibly this was so that, in being outside, it’d be easier to call the calvary should the mask flew off and Listig started shouting about plans to take over the world while shooting magic lasers from her fingers, although there was also that non-zero chance that Tony doing this to impress her. Listig certainly didn’t exactly come off as the type of person who’d be trembling with tears of joy just to be _on_ a date with Tony Stark be it here or on a picnic beside a landfill.

And how that new dress of hers—black polyester decorated by a gold floral print—was pushing up on her generous (in putting it politely) cleavage was making Tony’s eyes water.

“So when did you first come to the States?” Tony asked, ordering sparkling water for himself and rose wine for the lady. “Your English is perfect.”

“Thank you, but we learn your language at a very young age,” said Listig in reply, for however much her accent had been transparent since they met. “I first started visiting after I’d turned twenty. I was taken by how larger than life your country is, especially compared to the quiet village I had grown up in. You come from here, Mister Stark?”

“Tony’s just fine,” he said, mulling it over. “Despite what some people might say about me, I don’t come from beyond the stars, no. I was born in Philly. Didn’t grow up there. My father had a mansion in Long Island before I went to MIT. I’ve been Manhattan-adjacent ever since.”

“Hmm.” With their waiter having returned, Listig sipped lightly from her wine. “And you don’t drink.”

“I’m an alcoholic.” His response was instant, carrying a somber edge. They _always_ mentioned the drinking. “I’ve been sober for years, and while you’re gorgeous, sweetheart, nobody’s _that_ gorgeous.”

They were both laughing.

“My apologies, Tony. I didn’t mean to come off that way.” She paused. “Is it often you propose evenings like these with your interns?”

 _Way to go for the jugular._ Sheesh. Women these days were relentless.

“Um. When I was younger, sure. I’ve tried to keep myself a little bit better put together than that as I’ve gotten older. But we’ve gotten to know each other for a few weeks, and the work you do is incredible. As well as… quite the set of physical faculties, if you don’t mind my saying so.” He’d somehow managed to have made _a few weeks_ sound like a normal qualifying statement to asking someone out. But he was Tony. As far as he was concerned, that was downright mild. His miraculous ability to try and get in the pants of any attractive person be they man or woman wasn’t what you might call a well-kept secret (not that he ever tried to hide it, except when arguing with Pepper). Fortunately, he doubted he was going to be telling Pepper about this anytime soon.

“I see.” She was sipping more wine. Everything about her came off as deliberate—the hair, her mint-colored necklace, the low-cut, flattering dress—and the way she acknowledged Tony was no exception. He tried to remember that this necessarily wasn’t a good thing, what with his ongoing suspicion of her being also the horned gremlin thorn in Avengers side. It wasn’t as though Loki wasn’t this deliberate either. “You’re quite handsome yourself, Tony.”

Choice way to put it. “Glad we’re agreed, Listig. Any idea for what you’re going to order? They’ve got just about everything you could imagine available in some way. Hell, I’m sure I’ve seen them fly in ingredients once or twice.” This was not hyperbole; you understand now why this place was almost too classy for even him. He flattened out a fold in his three piece suit.

“Mm. I’m not so complicated. I think salmon and their alfredo special is enough for me. What about yourself, Tony?”

_We-e-e-ell.._

Barely an hour later in that same terrace, now at the south wall where the windows were curtained and no-one would see outside.

“Good fuck, Listig!” Tony could barely keep it down. “What are they _teaching_ twenty-somethings these days?”

The fly of his pants was undone, boxers all but ripped to shreds to make way for his now throbbing cock as he felt her fingers encircle his head and tease ever closer toward the base of his twitching length.

“I’ve a natural talent, Tony,” giggled Listig darkly before she kissed him right on the lips. Although her dress was in far better condition, it couldn’t keep her breasts from shoving themselves onto Tony’s chest while they embraced which might as well have almost driven him insane. The kiss glowered with intent, himself unable to help how he was coming unwound in her arms.

“Can we… can we really do this here?” gasped Tony. Listig replied with only another kiss and the subject was dropped. What with how she worked him, it was impossible to argue even if he wanted to. “God…”

Listig perked up almost imperceptibly, yet returned to tracing prints of cool black lipstick on his neck without a word. A more cognizant Tony would have made keen notice of this were he not distracted quite thoroughly by way of his own throbbing cock. He wanted her; he wanted her _now_.

“Not so fast,” she said as if reading his mind, gripping him twice as hard. Tony groaned. She was stroking him far too slowly for how he’d like it and she knew it. Damn tease. “You’ll have it later, Tony. For now, you’re _**mine.**_ ”

_You’re mine._

Dimly, Tony recognized that she could have been talking literal, but his once-upon-a-time genius train of thought failed to come up with anything for why this could’ve been true. He blabbered instead, “Throw me a… unh… bone, Listig. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He squeezed at her equally as generous backside—and this she permitted—which was maybe the sole factor playing into him not exploding into her hand right then and there.

“A bone, yes…” She seemed to consider it, and before he knew it, those fingers were now a wonderful, wet mouth. Enjoying his taste, she rapidly escalated matters to form a perfect seal with her lips, licking and sucking better than any woman Tony’s ever had.

He was, for his part, shall we say _blown away._

It excited him in a method he’d never felt before, seeing his cock disappear into Listig. He didn’t dare try to dictate her pace, either—his arms were where they belonged, bracing himself against the wall and no more while Tony himself groaned and moaned and tried oh-so-hard to stay quiet such as to not attract any attention from the still very much busy restaurant inside. He experienced mixed results. Nevertheless, be by luck or mercy, they remained undiscovered.

“Sweetheart…” Tony said it though it were like reverence. “ ** _Nngh!_** ” The suit he was wearing felt more like a prison with how much he was sweating, coursing with want, enraptured by lust. Listig on the other hand wasn’t put off in the least and starts to blessedly speed up. Twenty-something, yeah right. This chick didn’t come up even to breathe!

Then she was all but planting a kiss to his balls, and it was lights out for a single thought toeing coherence for this billionaire playboy. Each and every time he mistook himself for finally peaking, something unknown shifted within him such that the pleasure only mounted higher and higher atop reaches that would’ve had him spinning with vertigo were it not for Listig propping him up. As for her, she never lost her own composure so much as for a second.

“Oh, my God!” And it came crashing, crashing in, and Tony was left no choice but to explode down her waiting throat. This only encouraged to coax as much of him into her as possible, draining him down to the marrow. Breathless, they were there like that beside the terrace for what felt like an eternity before Listig lifted herself up and off him, not a single drop lost to the ground or her lips. When she grinned, it was with all her teeth.

“Quite the performance, Tony,” she said, voice like silk, not at all what you’d expect out of someone that had just sucked another dry to the point where Tony would’ve been excused if she left him a dessicated husk. Listig pulled him into another hot, wet kiss, her whispers like fire in his ear. “Suppose I may come home with you tonight, can’t I?”

After requisite catching of the breath: “Let me just… zip myself up, first.”

Tony Stark’s penthouse, pinnacle floor of Stark Tower.

“I’m going to say this now. That was incredible, Listig. Really. And I’m not just talking about the blowjob. But the blowjob… probably the best I’ve ever had? No, _definitely_ the best head I’ve ever had.” He had it in him to ramble on for more, but she was slipping off her shoes already to sit pretty at the foot of his bed. “You are so gorgeous. Have I said that? I’ve said that.”

“Several times,” Listig reaffirmed. “You’re quite smitten, Tony.”

A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him not to do this. He had a gut instinct with this woman for a reason. If she was Loki—really that goblinoid thing responsible for who-knows-how-many attempts at world domination—then she was playing him like a violin and worst of all, Tony was _letting_ her. Almost begging her to do it. But a second voice countered that even if that were true, he still had no idea as to what game she was playing. Surely it wasn’t just for the mindblowing sex. She wanted something. And that something had to be worth more than his dignity (were he to have any left of that). He told himself that the only way he was going to find out enough in order to be able to stop her was by playing along.

Oddly, it never did really register that his voice may have not been his own.

“Please.” Tony sounded about ready to drop to his hands and knees. “I _have_ to know what you look like naked.”

Listig laughed, watching him. “Funny. I was about to ask the same of you, Tony.” Then she unzipped her dress, unhooking her bra thereafter that must’ve sighed with relief at being relieved of its duties.

Tony stared, eyes like marbles.

“Hey, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Set the lights to dim on the red color setting. I’m about to be murdered.”

“Very charming, sir. Setting the lights to your chosen parameters. Enjoy. Would you also like for me to play your song?”

“Uh… no. No song. We won’t be needing that where we’re going.”

(As if he’d ever had said yes to _Cut to the Feeling._ )

By the time he was done talking to FRIDAY, Tony had already undressed himself like a man possessed, drawn to Listig moth to a flame. She creeped further into the bed, lying upright on her back in the folds of countless pillows. He climbed in after her, as if uncertain whether or not she’d disappear if he wasn’t eager enough and helped himself to her breasts.

“Hmm.” She looked at him with a quizzical expression, almost freeing him back to the gates of reality.

“What is it?” he mumbled, raising a brow.

“You’re forgetting something…” Then before Tony could so much as blink, he was the one being pinned to the sheets. He wasn’t able to wheedle out a gasp as she finished her thought. “I am not the one who submits. It’s you.”

Tony tried to laugh; it was toneless and frankly set with a healthy dose of added fear. “Heh… yeah, I guess I did forget that. You know, I love a good dom, so fine by me. Take the reins, sweetheart.”

“Is it?” Listig’s nails were talons against his cheek, herself leaning in to grin that same toothy smile he’d saw before at the restaurant. A smile that, by any lucid measure, was _extremely_ Loki-adjacent. But Tony was in too deep now. Even if he was becoming more than a little afraid of her, he was also harder than Mount Everest.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Go wild.”

_Go wild._

Were he anyone else on this planet, these ought as well had been his last words.

Listig giggled again and it echoed in his ear, her teeth nibbling at his earlobe. He felt fingers draw circles along his collarbone, another reaching for his groin. “Tell me, Tony Stark…” She was nuzzling his face. “Do you feel like begging?”

Now, we should tell you that Tony was not usually a beggar. He was never really into that sort of thing. Too on the nose. But now? Now, with a woman sitting on top of his body, pinning it to the bed by virtue of both almighty ass and almighty hips, set with eyes that had to be nearly glowing in that low light, biting him, teasing him to the core… we imagine you can forgive him for letting it slip. Or being a touch sloppy—they weren’t exactly mutually exclusive.

“Please, darling,” he whispered. “Please… fuck me.”

And are those not the magic words?

Listig was on him in an instant. She kissed Tony more passionately than before by an order of magnitude, capturing his head in her hands while the rest of her was more than enough to keep him where he was. Breasts pushing into him again, they created a pressure that built and built toward a growing, helpless frenzy. Tony wanted to be inside her. No, he needed to be inside her. But he could do nothing but lie there, receiving her kisses like poison until she herself had decided to cut him loose. And when she does, it felt like heaven itself.

So much for genius, eh, Stark. So much for playing ball with the could-be trickster god. But Tony was far and away past caring now. What came to the surface, burbling and dim from his mouth, wouldn’t so much as phase him.

“You’re like a… _**goddess**_ …”

She cradled his chin, bringing Tony’s listless eyes to hers. “Then worship me as one,” she commanded, guiding his hands to her chest.

It didn’t take much to get the idea.

For this, Listig’s pace on top of Tony was heavy inasmuch fast, a tidal wave of want and need and everything inbetween that crashed into him over and over as she pumped him in and out of her. She felt incredible, she felt perfect—the breasts he’s worshiping with his face, her pussy like a vise, her eye-watering curves—and he soon came to the realization he couldn’t even begin to appreciate them all equally. There was simply so much, and it was torture, but he focused on where she’d put him, palmed filled to the tee with enormous, mesmerizing Norwegian titty.

A glimmer, a spark of clarity, through everything: “… put a… spell on me…”

Listig only treated this as permission to fuck Tony harder, and that clarity exited stage left.

They were making out again. It was like every neuron of his body was aflame with white passion, drowning out nary so much a chance for anything else. She was simply that good.

“Please… nngh… please, sweetheart. You’ve got to let me come.”

“Alas, poor Tony Stark.” She slammed into him. “Thinking he has any say so. You’re adorable, dear, you really are. I should come back again… after this is over, don’t you think?”

“You’re killing me, Listig. I’m gonna blow.”

He saw only the glint of her smile. “Then, dear… then give me _**everything**_.”

Tony obeyed. He didn’t have a choice. His hips began to spasm, unleashing into her. Listig rumbled with a glim kind of glee, a growl as she grabbed him by the shoulders to milk it out for all it was worth.

“Good boy,” she said, and he felt a splash of sudden pride, as if he’d done something worth being truly proud of. Then, panting, she kissed him one last time as she snapped her fingers and suddenly all he saw was darkness.

Tony didn’t wake up until the morning. He muttered something incomprehensible, running a had through his hair. Jesus, he was groggy like he just had a go at the bar last night.

“The hell happened?” Then he saw he was entirely naked, and remembered. “Oh, right. Got murdered. Huh… and she left, too? Jeez.” Talk about a bleeding heart.

He noticed a laptop being open on the nightstand, post-it note attached at the top. Tony blined to read it.

_Might I suggest seeing the forest for the trees next time, Avenger?_

_Love, ᛚᛟᚲᛁ_

The screen was on to an already completed Google search.

Pepper over the intercom. “Tony, are you awake? There’s been a break in at the vault. Someone used your credentials and DNA to steal one of those artifacts you promised you’d hand over to Doctor Strange!”

_**Fuck.** _


End file.
